


Hair

by Teland



Series: Break Time [4]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Chatlogs, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-17
Updated: 1998-09-17
Packaged: 2020-11-28 07:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20962964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Langly needs a haircut.





	Hair

Te: I had 170 messages in that Inbox!  
kormantic: Horror. I dare not count my mail.  
Te: It's a skeery thing, Pretty Pretty.  
kormantic: It's hard.  
Te: What kind of story would you like to hear, if I   
could get the story motors working?  
kormantic: {laughs} Something light hearted.   
Tomfoolery. Langly getting a hair cut. Or giving one. To   
anyone at all.  
Te: {thinking}  
kormantic: {tickles you} Helping that oxygen get to your   
brain.  
Te: {giggling}  
Te: "Shit."

Byers looked up from the latest issue of Architectural   
Digest to find Langly grimacing at the ragged ends of a   
hank of his own hair. "What's wrong?"

kormantic: Quiet night and quiet stars  
quiet chord from my guitar  
floating on the silence that surrounds us

quiet thoughts and quiet dreams  
quiet walks by quiet streams  
and a window that looks out over Corcovado  
o how lovely  
{mood music-- soft smushy romantic bossa nova}

kormantic: {Laughs fondly} I love you.  
kormantic: {{dratted split ends... how will Cheryl EVER   
get asked to the prom NOW!?!?}  
Te: "I have to get a haircut."

"You have to do *what*?" It was inane, but for the life of   
him John couldn't remember the other man *ever* getting   
that messy, shameless, soft and... well, he couldn't   
remember him going to get shorn.

Langly just scowled until John felt a blush beginning to   
creep out from under his robe.

"OK, OK, you need to get a haircut. What's the problem?"

"The guys at the shop keep threatening to shave it off. It   
gets old."

John's mouth tightened a bit. He knew Langly well enough   
to know the answer to the next, logical question -- why   
don't you find a new shop? -- was somewhere in the dark,   
nasty pit of Don't Ask. There were boundaries.

He could respect boundaries, and he could suddenly see the   
scene very clearly: Beefy old men, dirty t-shirts, dirtier   
mirrors. The sort of testosterone - heavy ribbing Langly   
could trot out at a moment's notice, but probably wasn't   
quite... safe... from himself.

//Hell.//

"You know, Langly..."

"What?" A little too sharp, but that was all right. Langly   
knew *him* well enough to make the run of John's thought   
bell-clear and infuriating.

"I've got some clippers and scissors and stuff in my kit.   
Mostly for my beard but --"

He was cut off by a firm, possessive palm cupping his   
cheek, rubbing just-this-short of maddeningly against the   
grain. It was easy to forget just how fast Langly could   
move when the mood struck him. 

"You wanna cut my hair, Princess?"

John caught himself about to nuzzle mindlessly into the   
palm and resolutely looked up into the oddly shallow hazel   
eyes. Shallow was perhaps the wrong word, but that was the   
impression. Like a country swamp. Thick and ominous with  
grandpa's endless tales of escaped killers and pale, pale   
green...

//This isn't helping me focus.//

"Well, I mean, only if you'd like me to."

"You've done it before?"

"Cut hair?"

//My, I'm an idiot this morning. Next time, he doesn't get   
to sleep without getting me off at *least* twice.//

Langly snorted and ran a thumb over John's lower lip.   
Pressed hard, but not quite the pressure that meant "open   
up and suck." John wasn't sure whether to be confused or   
angry at the depth and scope of his training. 

"Yeah, John. Cut hair."

John looked up into a smug little smirk and began to feel   
the familiar heat and heft below his beltline.

"Would you..." He really couldn't stop himself from   
trailing off to run a fast tongue over his lip and the   
teasing thumb. Right one. Subtle callous from the space   
bar. Not salty enough. "Would you trust me to do it?"

The hand immediately left his mouth and gripped his   
shoulder hard and he was being kissed exactly how he wanted   
to be. Langly was ruthless in his own need and it was a   
fine thing... a fine thing to be needed.

Langly broke the kiss with a taunting, promising bite and   
crouched before him, squeezing his shoulder rhythmically.   
"Yeah. I trust you, Princess." 

John grinned as wickedly as he knew how. "You ought to   
watch those Princesses with the man who'll shortly be   
wielding scissors around your head."

But he'd forgotten Langly's *other* hand which now had him   
\-- quite firmly -- by the balls. Rolling a little. John   
moaned, slid down a little farther in the chair.... But all   
Langly did was look at him. 

"Like I said... I trust you."

And that hand was gone. John forcibly shook off the stunned   
glaze of lust and made his way into the bathroom, fully   
aware that Langly was behind him, fully aware that his ass   
was being thoroughly scrutinized.

"How do you want to do this?"

"Hmmm..." John looked around the neat little bathroom. The   
operative word was little, though, and there was no way   
this would be anything but awkward.

A goose made him yelp. "Well...?"

"Do you hit on *all* your barbers?"

Langly sidled up behind John and pulled him close. "Nah,   
just the ones with..." Clever fingers digging lightly into   
his hipbones, pulling him closer still. "Cute..." A slow,   
deliberate grind that made John start looking around for   
something to brace himself against. "... little..." Sharp   
little bites at his nape. "... noses."

"What?"

And then Langly was pulling off again and settling himself   
on the edge of the tub. 

"Noses, Princess. I like your nose. I think it would be   
best if I sat here while you did your thing, don't you?"

John had a brief moment to weigh the pros and cons of   
homicide, but settled for nodding curtly at his lover and   
plucking the kit from the third shelf -- second item from   
the left -- of the cabinet and rummaging busily. 

Scissors. More scissors. A lot of scissors. He quirked a   
speculative eye at Langly, but since he had no real clue   
what he was speculating about he didn't wait for a   
reaction. 

//Focus.//

"Right. About an inch and a half off all around?"

Langly looked briefly unhappy, fingered a hank again. "I   
guess..."

"You know, we really should wash it first..."

The distraction worked, and earned him another cock-  
twitching grin. 

"Do you *really* think we'd make it through the process and   
still have the... attention... to cut hair?"

John gave an ostentatious glance to the flesh currently   
peeking out from the folds of his robe. "You just may have   
a point." He took the step and a half necessary to get   
within snipping distance and did his best to ignore the   
hungry little "Mmm" coming from the vicinity of his groin.   
"Ready for me?"

"Always."

The first, highly unnecessary step was to run his hands   
over the familiar head, trace the receding hairline as   
surreptitiously as possible...

Low chuckle and hot puffs of air... it seemed impossible   
they weren't molding the silk around his cock... "Focus,   
Princess, focus."

"Hmmm...?"

Brief lap through the fabric and he shuddered. "*Focus*."

"You are *not* helping."

"I have an ulterior motive."

"This is supposed to be a shock?"

Another chuckle and Langly visibly pulled himself back a   
little. "C'mon, baby... cut that hair."

He restrained his hips from following and dug out the   
brush. Slow, even strokes and another "Mmm" and the bone   
deep certainty that his hips were in motion *anyway*. When   
he was done Langly's hair had it's own little shine... Not   
quite burnished gold but still extremely distracting...

"Princess..."

"What, what, *what*?" 

Massive grin. "Nothing, just checking." 

"Asshole."

"Heh. Later."

"You and your promises..." Easy to slip into these little   
rhythms, to wonder how they'd compare to the ones that   
inevitably followed... but it was time for the scissors.

Sometime in the distant past, when he'd been coherent, John   
had set the kit just to the side of Langly's hip. The jut   
of bone was clearly visible under the tight jeans, and John   
had a moment to wonder just when *he'd* become the lazy one   
of the relationship. Indolent. Luxurious....

Langly blew another puff of air at him, ridiculously cool   
on the damp silk of his robe. John jumped, bit back the eep   
that tried to struggle past the seal of his lips.

"So *impatient*. Sit back and let me do my job, hmm?"

A snicker. "You expect me to pay you for this?"

He leaned in a little closer than was strictly necessary,   
not coincidentally blocking Langly's view of his   
bescissored hand. "Well, my *other* services seem to be   
going unappreciated..."

"Unapp-- So you wanna play rentboy and john, John?"

A snip.

"Mmm... sounds interesting..." Another snip. "Tell me   
more..."

Langly went off at a fast clip, harsh tenor growling out a   
steady stream of promises

"... you'd look so good in leather, Princess..."

so innately terrifying John felt his knees start to weaken.   
Or maybe it was the deep-seated belief he could feel the   
other man's words

"... dress you up nice and turn you out..."

and see them far too clearly and it was hard to pay   
attention he was hard and more than halfway done and he'd   
be finished so quickly if Langly would just

"... take you into an alley..."

get a little closer, a little closer and take him deep and   
one last snip and he hoped Langly

"... fuck you so hard, baby..."

wouldn't mind if he was a *little* uneven but he was done   
and the only logical thing to do was yank the other man up   
by his not-much-shorter-at-all hair and into the shower...

The water was cold but John was more than hot enough and   
he'd forgotten his robe but Langly tore the drenched fabric   
off with the sort of brutal efficiency he'd come to

//love//

appreciate and it was skin on skin and the short little   
hairs tickled on the way down and off and he really   
couldn't bring himself to care about the drain when that   
clever hand took him by the root and stroked him like it   
was Langly's own... And it was.

Closer still and that voice at his ear...

"C'mon, baby... come for me..."

And John pulled back just far enough to get himself a kiss   
to scream into and followed orders.

John shivered with the force of it and let himself be led   
into the bedroom. He sincerely hoped Langly needed a   
manicure.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~


End file.
